Passion for destruction
by Is0lde
Summary: When you're an immortal, blood-sucking fiend, there's no limit to the fun you can have with mortals. Death is an art, make your murder beautiful... summary sucks. Sorry! Just read.
1. Thrilled

**Chapter one: Thrilled **

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**Author's note**: My first Spike fanfic! Yay!  
Umm, nothing to be said except it was going to be Spike/Angel, and then it just... wasn't.  
Perhaps in the third, currently unwritten chapter...? Ah, we shall see.  
Everything's Joss Whedon's... basically. Except the pretty lady. And the town. And, oh, can I own the little town too? Yes, I can. Great. Wish I could own Spike, too... sob sob.

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The streets were filled with people. Humans, originating from all social classes, gathered in these parts of town to have a genuinely good time. There were brothels, of course, as there always are in the shadier parts of a town, but also bars and pubs and, although rarely, restaurants for those who wanted to quench their thirst and appease starving stomachs. All imaginable pleasures were satisfied here. It was crowded, dark except for dirty and often broken streetlights, and so noisy screaming at the top of one's lungs was no guarantee to be heard at all.

A more perfect place for hunting could scarcely be _dreamt_.

He had been stalking the woman in the scarlet dress for half an hour now. He liked the hunt. It gave him an unbeatable feeling of power that he enjoyed, and the more he could toy a bit with his victims before finishing them off, the better the rush. This particular woman has caught his eye immediately in the crowd, and he'd just known he _had_ to have her. Spending an hour or two prowling was no matter of concern. It was hours 'til dawn. He could take his time if he wanted to.

Smiling, he pushed himself through the crowd, all the while keeping the woman in sight. She didn't seem to know exactly where she was going; it was like she didn't have a goal or a purpose, but rather wandered around looking for one. She was a thing of beauty, her hair charcoal as were her eyes, and her lips ripe cherries waiting to be plucked. Her dress could easily have been mistaken as a harlot's attire, had it not been for the certain sense of class of it. She was blue-blooded, he could tell, and that fact made the hunt even more appealing to him.

She was quickening her pace, and he wondered for a moment if she'd noticed she was being followed. No matter if she had, though – she was his, she hadn't the faintest chance of escaping him. He was an excellent hunter. Dru had called him a natural. Therefore, his confidence did not fail him as he began almost running after her through the pack of pathetic, intoxicated humans.

She took a right at a corner into an alleyway that lead to the local church. It was a modest thing, this church – barely more than a heathen temple – yet the villagers sought comfort there for all sorts of occasions. He hesitated slightly as he followed her into the alley.

This was where Angelus preferred to hunt. Believers were his favourite prey. He got off on the look of terror in their faces as he revealed himself as what he really was. Those of the faith had a hard time believing their adored God could allow such beings, such ruthless creatures to walk the earth. And as he sank his teeth into their throats, tears running down their cheeks, their futile prayers to the supposedly all-mighty God died out as whispers in the wind. Then they fully understood. They were not going to Heaven. There was no Paradise, and there was no God. There was just humanity and, ultimately, death.

He shuddered and continued stalking the woman. He didn't want to interrupt Angelus, but his own desire and need took over and he tried to ignore the jolt in his stomach that a human would've called fear, but he just disregarded as excessive hunger.

The village chapel was right ahead now, and the woman stopped in front of it. She breathed heavily after having run there, and she stared blankly at the crucifix crowning the doors of the church.

He approached her silently from behind, concealing the smirk that threatened to spread on his lips, and when he put his hand on her shoulder, she shudder violently, turning her beautiful face toward his.

"W-who are you?" Her voice was unsteady. Now that they were standing so close to one another, he could see that her eyes were slightly reddened from tears recently spilt.

He fought to make his expression mild and caring, when all he wanted to do was put his game-face on reveal himself as the monster he was. It was hard, but he'd practised and was now as adept an actor as he was a hunter. He had no problem with the follow-through. "I am William," he answered her, his voice meek and demure.

"W-why… why have you been following me?" Her eyes sought his desperately. He found himself comparing her to a helpless fawn, incapable of understanding the danger awaiting her.

"You have entranced me," he whispered. He was cautious, ever so cautious; he could not make a mistake at this point, else he would have to call the whole act off and destroy the fun with jumping her without any sense of style. He'd made death his art. It was his talent, it was his game. Therefore he put all his effort to the task of making every kill different, and enhancing the beauty of it all as he went along. "I saw you standing out of the crowd, like a strange, exotic bird among the thieved and liars who make up the rest of humanity. I saw your tears. I wanted to offer you comfort, salvage if possible."

She stared at him. He saw her lips trembling as she formed her retort. "I… I'd wished to be alone this night, Sir William."

"Are you sure?" He let his hand caress her cheek ever so lightly. She drew back, but there was no fear in her expression. Rather, he got the impression she felt… unworthy of the attention he was giving her. Sometimes, he had this clarity of vision, and he always used it to his advantage. She did not wish him to go. She wished for him to understand. Perhaps the thought of having a stalker had intrigued her. Blue-blooded women often sought adventure, a release from the dull life of aristocrats. He smiled inside. She would most definitely taste delicious.

"I… no." She looked away. "I suppose it's alright for you to stay."

"I wondered," he said softly, "when I saw you, why tears dared venture down your exquisitely pale complexion. Is there a reason as to why you're here now, in these parts of town, and outside this… _rustic_ Christian chapel."

She turned to him, her eyes yet again seeking his. Tears filled her eyes anew, making them glitter like precious dark jewels. "I have done my family wrong," she answered him, "and they do not know my sins."

"Pray tell… how have you done them wrong? You seem incapable of sinning." He smiled at her. Yes, she certainly seemed as innocent as could be. But innocence was not reliable. Inside every heart there are dark thoughts, shadows in need of surfacing. He knew this all too well.

"I'm sorry, I do not usually pour my heart out to strangers," she whispered tearfully. "And I do not wish to bother you."

"Sometimes talking to strangers are easier," he said. "For they are more objective. And it is no bother, I assure you, madam."

She snivelled quietly, but even in this her broken-down state was she beautiful and full of grace. "My father found me a husband last year," she said almost inaudibly, "a decent, proper man, with economical means for more than survival. He would have taken good care of me, I know it. But he had been married before. In fact, he had children my age, and the thought repulsed me. I could not accommodate his wished. And so, on our wedding-night, while he was sleeping by my side, I slipped out of bed, and got the knife my father used for opening sealed letters from the top drawer of his desk. And I…" She stopped, turning to look at the crucifix as though looking for an answer of some sort.

He was smiling openly now. The girl _was_ a sinner. She was not pure, her soul had been stained with blood, and her innocence lost forevermore.

"I'm sorry, dear sir," she then said, bewildered, after having spent a minute or so staring at the crucifix. "Please, do not think me evil. I just could not bare the thought of spending my life with a man I had no love for. I am sure you have never done anything of the sort. You should not mingle with bad women like me. You should leave, leave me now." She started sobbing uncontrollably.

"I have done some sinning in my time," he answered her, stroking her hair affectionately as though they'd known each other their entire life. Hunger had begun ripping at his insides, and he understood he would to best to finish now, when he still had the chance. He was, after all, on Angelus' territory. And he did not wish to be interrupted. "I may not look it, but darkness is within me, as it is within everyone. Humans are animals, and animals have instincts they cannot run from or ignore. And you –" he caught her eye and grabbed hold of her shoulders, so that she could not move and inch, "– have but acted on the most primal of instincts."

"W-what is that?" she sobbed, looking up at him doubtingly.

"Murder," he answered her lightly, as he bent forward and sunk his elongated, sharpened teeth in her neck.

She did not scream, nor did she cry out in terror; she merely gasped as she felt the pain of her skin being penetrated. It was almost as thought she welcomed death. He could understand why, and he almost laughed at the irony of it all. The murderer is murdered, equals erase one another.

Nature is certainly cruel, and she plans everything meticulously.

When he had almost drained her completely, he stopped. This was the best part. He looked into her eyes, an amused look on his face. Her light was beginning to dim, her bodily heat leaving her. But she was still alive.

"Look at me," he demanded, as he laid her down on the pavement beside the church's doors. "_Look at me._ You humans are so pathetic. You're not alive, you just pretend to me. You rarely act upon your instincts, the very thing that make existence bearable, and when you do, you are full of remorse and you cry for those you have hurt. But inside, you all want this. You all want the pleasure of the kill." He snorted. "So I want you to look at me now. I've been dead a while, yet I am more alive that you have ever been. And now it's too late. Now, _you die_. Worms will feed on you. They will not consider whether you are of noble birth or not. Before death, we are all alike. And you have not treasured your life."

He could feel her weak breath on his neck when he bent over her and whispered in her ear. "Goodbye, love."

And upon hearing his last words, her heart stopped beating, and she died, her eyes still open wide and staring into his.

"Well, that was boring."

He spun around. A pair of dark eyes, glinting with humour, met his.

_Angelus._ He had come at last. The smell of fear and blood must have drawn him there, if he hadn't been there already, disposing of a victim.

"Oh, it's you." Spike wet his lips nervously. It was not every day he encountered Angelus while hunting or feeding – unless they were hunting together, of course. Now, he was more than a little afraid of what he'd have to say about him entering his 'domain'. Although they shared most things, hunting grounds were important. Some rules are not to be broken.

"Stunning perception as ever, William." He smirked. "You didn't sense me before?"

Spike bit his own tongue in frustration. Rookie mistake. He should be able to sense other vampires easily. This was humiliating. "I was busy," he retorted dryly, as he tasted his own blood from the fresh wound in his mouth.

"I saw that. But… what the hell were you doing? It looked like you were having a heart to heart with her instead of killing her."

"You know I like to have a good time with 'em first," he said, as nonchalant as though they'd been talking about the current weather conditions. "Otherwise, where's the fun in it?"

"I imagine," Angelus said persistently, "that others of our kind might say that it is, in fact, the kill that is the thrill, so to speak. But no, you have to make everything a part of your little charade. Every man's got his kinks, and I respect that. But don't you think you're overcomplicating things? It's mainly about desire to survive. And to feed."

"Oh. So you're allowed to spend half an hour discussing religion with your victims, and I can't use up five minutes for telling them what I think of their race and their lack of purpose, their so-called life?" Spike was feeling more and more cocky now. He wasn't dear, humble William anymore. He was Spike, he was on top of things and confident.  
Angelus had begun to think he was getting a bit _too_ confident. But he preferred this Spike to the soft frail individual he'd been before. At least he'd stopped reciting his awful poetry now.

The older, more experienced vampire smiled wryly. "Well, do as you wish. Just don't do it on my territory, agreed? You're lucky I was finished with mine by the time you came here with yours. But let's put that behind us now, shall we? I was thinking of looking up the ladies. You know where I can find them?"

Spike swallowed hard. It had been a close call, but he had got off easy. "Not... not exactly. Dru said something about some bar. It's not far from here."

Angelus' smile lingered. "I would've expected you to be with her. It was a while ago you went hunting together, am I right?"

Spike shrugged. "Man's got to have his privacy, you know."

"All too well, Spike. I know all too well. So what do you say we head down there and join them? I'm sure they're having _their_ fun right now, and I don't like missing out."

"Yeah. Be with you in a sec." Spike bent down over his victim again and grabbed her by the arms. Then, he started carrying her away toward the bushes that were planted on the right side of the chapel.

Angelus cocked an eyebrow. "You do realise that's completely unnecessary."

The conformed poet stopped, dropping the woman onto the ground again. He had, for a moment, thought about the terror it would cause when they found a girl with marks on her neck and all her blood drained out of her right in front of the church. But that was nonsense now. He didn't care. The more mayhem caused, the better, right? "Oh, right."

Angelus turned and walked off into the darkness of the alleyway. "Come on then," he beckoned. "Make haste. Else there might not be anything left for us at our arrival. You know how peckish the ladies get on full-moon eves like this one."

Spike followed without arguing.


	2. Innocence

**Chapter two: Innocence**

It was pretty much like every other bar, only more dark and smoky. There were a few tables, a bar-disk and worn-down chairs scattered over the floor, and that was all that could be said about the interior of the place. At the far end of the room there was a staircase, on which several less dignified ladies had parked themselves, providing their services for any man or woman who felt like having a good time midst drinking. The ones not working looked fairly bored and stared apathetically out into thin air, waiting for someone to make an offer. They were allowed inside if the landlord, the owner of the place, got a fair percentage of what they each made. It was considered a good deal. Even when the weather was lousy, they were still open for business, hidden under the more or less dry ceiling.

At the bar sat two beautiful young ladies, talking among themselves so silently that no one around them could overhear what they were saying. Here and there, they broke the conversation off by laughing, their laughter hollow and cold when it echoed throughout the room. They were each other's opposites; one fair, the other dark. They were both, however, wearing expensive clothes and looked very misplaced in this sea of filthy peasants who were the usual clientele.

Angelus spotted them instantly and sauntered through the crowded room. Where he made his way, the patrons of the bar tried to keep away as much as possible, thus creating a handy path through the crowd. It was like he gave off some sort of aura that instinctively told people to get the hell away, unless they wanted to get hurt. Spike tried to keep up, but he had not yet attained the power required to give off such an aura, which meant he had to elbow himself through.

"Ladies," smiled Angelus as he reached them. They turned to face him and grinned in a satisfied manner as he put his arms around them both. "I trust you are both very, _very_ hungry."

"We have not yet dined, dearest," replied the blond one, smiling darkly. "We decided to wait for you."

Spike had now reached them. The darker, more graceful woman released herself from Angelus' arm and reached out her hand for him to grasp. He did, kissing it gently.

"Good evening, sweet William," she said, a vicious smile on her carefully coloured lips. "Had a good night's hunting?"

"'Course, pet," he said, drawing up a chair and implying she should sit on it. She did so.

"Did she scream?" she asked with a morbid curiosity in her voice.

"No. She rather embraced it, actually."

"Too bad. It's much more fun when they scream, and beg, and crawl at your feet for mercy, like maggots wriggling on a hook." She yawned slightly. "I am quite bored now. And the hunger is overwhelming. Shall we share one, my love?" she suggested to Spike.

He grinned deviously. "Why not, Dru. Which one would you like?" He gave a wide gesture. None of the humans in the pub seemed to have noticed their strange conversation, and if they had, they'd obviously not thought much of it.

Angelus, who had been chatting with his fair lady, now had a wide, lopsided smile on his lips. "I say we take them all."  
"Then we would have to move on to another town afterwards," his lady said, frowning. "I'm not in the mood for changing the scenery; I like it here. Let's wait with the massacre this time, okay?"  
"We have dwelled here for too long already, Darla," Angelus answered her. "And I'm getting weary with this 'rustic charm' thing. Venice seems appealing, and that's not very far from here."  
Darla pouted, but said no more. She knew better than to question him.

"You girls go and seal off the entrances," Angelus commanded them. "And then you and I, _William_, will take care of gathering the sheep around us."

Again, Spike felt a wave of anger go through him. He hated Angelus' patronising attitude. He thought himself the king of everything. It might be he was the most powerful of their group, but there was no need to score low points in using Spike's old name against him. It was like he was trying to make a statement: _no matter if Drusilla sired you, you are still just a petty, low-down predator compared to me._ His attitude was not hostile, but condescending, and that was what made him furious. But he swallowed his anger yet again and pretended everything was fine.

"Of course," he said, bowing sardonically. But Angelus had already turned his back on him.

Darla and Dru had gone off to seal the two doorways. No human seemed to mind, just as long as they were on the inside of the pub when the doors closed. They were, after all, aiming at becoming horribly intoxicated, and this was one of the better places to achieve that specific goal.

_Humans_, thought Spike disdainfully. _Here they all are, not a single one of them aware that they are experiencing their last moments on earth. They have no instinct to run, no sense of danger alerting them. They have no purpose other than to serve as meals for higher, more developed creatures. They deserve no pity._

"Shall we begin?" asked Angelus politely. "I'll even let you pick the first."

Spike looked out at the crowd surrounding them. Young and old mingled together and here and there he could spot an old couple, trying hard not to fall down on the floor and break something. Every being just looked the same to him.

Then, something caught his eye. It was a girl, barely five years old, clutching a doll tightly to her chest, sitting a couple of chairs from where they were standing. She looked just like an angel, her hair golden as the sun and her skin reminiscent of just that of a porcelain doll's. All alone she sat there at her table, her eventual parents nowhere to be seen. Spike smiled. There was no question as to who would be his first. "That one."

Angelus grinned. "Fine choice. Innocence tastes best."

When he had reached the girl, she looked up at him with her big, blue eyes open wide. It seemed those eyes were filled with stars, for they glinted just like a starlit sky at him. She was a beautiful child.

"That's a nice doll you've got there, little girl," he said.

"Who are you?" she asked, as he knelt down beside her chair. Children were always blunt. They did not care for niceties and etiquette.

He made every effort to make his smile warm and kind, and look less like a wolf's. "My name is William." His old name, although no longer suiting for what he had become, sounded more human and normal than his new one. You don't go parading around your habits for torturing people unless you want to scare your audience, and now, he had to appear trustworthy to her. Gain her trust. Then, as a serpent in the grass, strike when she was the most vulnerable. "What is yours?"

"Larissa," she answered him. "Where did you get that scar?" She was referring to a new scar he'd got in a fight with another, less powerful vampire the night before, which was placed on his right cheek. She spoke softly, and all the while she was stroking her doll's hair.

"A bad man gave it to me," he answered.

"A bad man?"

"Yes. Where are your parents, Larissa? Surely, you are not here alone?"

She looked away, still stroking the doll's hair as if her life depended on it. "They went to sleep, and then they never woke up again."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Spike noted that Drusilla was approaching from the staircase, her lips curled in a desirous smile. He stood up, and offered the girl his hand. "Come on, up you go. This is no place for a child to be."

She took his hand hesitantly, and arose from her chair. She was just tall enough to reach his waist. Drusilla had reached them now and knelt down before the child, taking a hold with her hands around her its head. "What a beautiful child!" she cried, caressing Larissa tenderly. "I suppose she's an orphan, isn't she?" she then asked Spike, meeting his gaze approvingly. She liked her prey to be fragile and tender of age.

"She is."

"Would you like a kiss, little girl?" Drusilla said, cooing. The girl was silent, seemingly entranced, but nodded slowly. Right then, a scream was heard from the other end of the room. Darla and Angelus had taken their first victim. The girl shuddered, but dared not move. Drusilla leaned in closer to the child, smirking, and embraced her, the child's neck just by her mouth. "You should be happy, darling. You're going to meet your parents again." And she sunk her teeth into the girl's tender, pallid skin.

Larissa's cry was that of a baby lark, shot down from high heaven in its fateful first flight. People all around turned to see what the fuzz was about, but instead of trying to prevent what was happening, they backed off, fear written in their faces. _Human cowardice_, thought Spike, _is infallible._ Then, the cry died out, her flickering ray of light dimming and dissolving.

The room had gone absolutely quiet. Everyone was staring at the couple, as Drusilla dropped the child's limp, lifeless body to the floor. As she turned and revealed what she was, a few of the patrons screamed, but all remained in their positions, frozen.

"Please do not try to run," Drusilla said in her childish voice. "That will only mean more work for us, and you cannot escape, so your attempts would be to no point at all." As Spike put his arms around her waist, she tilted her head back against his shoulder. "Next one's yours, love," she promised, and kissed him on the cheek.

When they arrived at the small, quite dirty inn where they were currently staying, Dru immediately ran into the dark, windowless bedroom. Spike threw off his coat on the only, very ragged armed chair that stood in what you could've called the place's 'entrance', had it not been so infinitely small, and sat down in it, staring at the wall. Inside it, cockroaches resided, and their rattling noise accompanied the sounds of the carriages, which passed right outside the room. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, full and content as he was.

Right when he'd managed to unwind, Dru emerged from the bedroom, a small, lifeless body in her hands.

"It's dead," she said sulkily.

Spike opened his eyes again, thoroughly annoyed, and stared at her. "What is?"

"My bird," retorted the insane woman, petting it fondly. "My bird is dead."

Spike grunted. "Not this again. Dru, I keep telling you, you have to _feed_ the birdies, otherwise they'll drop dead, same as us."

"I thought I _had_ fed you," she whispered to the dead animal. "Why didn't you tell me I hadn't?"

"Birds don't talk, Dru," Spike said tiredly. "We'll just get you another one in Venice, all right? Though I doubt you'll be able to keep that alive more efficiently than this one. Or the last one, for that matter. Or the one before that…"

Drusilla was singing now, rocking the wretched corpse in her hands. It was an old song, so old Spike didn't even recognise it.

"I'll take you with me," Drusilla smiled to the bird, "I'll take you to Venice, and I'll throw you in some canal. I imagine you'd like a water-filled grave, wouldn't you? But no prayers will I read to save your soul. God's occupied elsewhere, he's listening to his angels, but he's forgot about the animals and the trees and the people he created."  
"Dru…"  
"… you will be one with the water, then, the waves will bury you. No maggots to feed on you in the water, bird."  
"Dru!"

She lifted her gaze from the bird and looked foggily at him. "Yes, William?"

"The bird… it's dead. It can't hear you."

"You're dead, and you can hear me perfectly, isn't that weird? Wouldn't you say that's a miracle, William?"

"I am not William anymore," Spike retorted sternly. "You made sure of that, pet."

She was the only one who was allowed to call him by his old, pre-vampiric name. And yet now, it bugged him. He felt he needed to make a statement. He wasn't William. He was Spike. He was no longer the soft, vulnerable and flesh-bound creature he'd been before. He was something completely different, and he felt great about it.

Drusilla suddenly dropped the bird right down on the worn floor, and glided to the chair in which he was sitting. She placed her hands on his shoulders and sat on his lap elegantly. He shuddered. She grazed him tenderly, playing with the locks of his hair between her thin, cold fingers.

"You'll always be William to me," she hissed. "My sweet William. My dark prince."

He did not argue with her anymore. What was the point? She had seen his human form. She knew he was a different man, a better man than before. She had seen his change.

If she wanted to call him that, it was okay. Just as long as she knew that it wasn't him anymore.

"So… Venice," he said, changing the subject efficiently. "Isn't that marvellous?"

She shrugged. "I've been there before."

"With Angelus and Darla?"

She closed her eyes, reminiscing for a moment. "No."

He decided not to question her further.


End file.
